


venus fly

by gengarchan



Series: a world alone [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ... sort of, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Badass Akaashi, First Dates, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, M/M, Petty Kuroo, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 19:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11386545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gengarchan/pseuds/gengarchan
Summary: It starts like every classic romance-- with Akaashi snapping an interrogator's neck with his thighs while Kuroo is tied to a chair.A story of how Akaashi and Kuroo meet. Pre kill v. maim of course but can be a standalone fic. i'm not sure if I rated this correctly. There's no sex yet.





	venus fly

**Author's Note:**

> i was in the middle of writing a fun little spy mission with akaashi kuroo and bokuto when this popped in my head. some people were talking about spy love and honestly? how romantic. i wrote this chapter from kuroo's perspective and it was a shitshow. but here ya go. 
> 
> also please listen to fuck with myself by banks and solo by frank ocean when reading this. it adds to the mood i think.

There are few things in life as satisfying as being punched in the face. Knuckle digging into cheek, teeth rattling, loosening, blood draining from root and staining tongue. It’s poetic and Kuroo can’t help but think that he’s a Pollock in his own right as he spits up a cocktail of saliva and clot onto the filthy floor. Some splatters are bright crimson and some stain a sweeter blush. He hums, then. Debussy, he thinks. Ravel? Something he heard on the radio on the way here. French composers weren’t his forte. 

 

The delivery of the blow was a little shaky. These guys were hardly professionals. 

 

“Hey, hey, now! What, get bored of me already?” He manages from the sticky redness coating his mouth, grin spread wide like an invitation. His expression dulls when tweedledee and tweedledum (affectionate nicknames for his interrogators bestowed by no other than Kuroo himself) leave the room with little detail as to where they’re going. Their departing “try to escape and we’ll kill you” only has Kuroo rolling his eyes. As if their boss would appreciate the sliced throat of an information bin. They wanted to know what he knew, after all.

 

Dodo (another affectionate nickname a la Kuroo) is guarding the door to the tiny room where Kuroo is tied to a chair, legs handcuffed and arms suffocating between his body and rope. It’s been a while, but this wasn’t the first time he’s been caught during a mission. He’s been doing this for some time. And yeah, maybe Kuroo was a little too sloppy and maybe he did surrender a little too eagerly, but he’s been very vocal about his _distaste_ for reconnaissance. Especially the sneaky sort. 

 

It just didn’t seem fair, after all, that Bokuto was planting a bullet in a Sicilian crime lord’s frontal lobe and blowing up the evidence while Kuroo snuck around the estate of a too-rich corporate executive who dabbled in not-so-legal finances. 

 

So he was trying to make a point. Which is why when Kenma speaks through the inconspicuous communication device still perched in his ear, Kuroo only snickers. 

 

“Nice one, agent double oh idiot.” 

 

Not wanting to ruffle Dodo’s feathers too much (he wanted to get out of this alive, after all, alive and paid), he hums a Tchaikovsky piece from the Maid of New Orleans to tell Kenma that he’d get out of this somehow. It’ll all be alright, etc. It was a good method of communicating without having to use easily decoded words. 

 

“Backup will be there soon.” 

 

At this, Kuroo’s calm Tchaikovsky quickly derails into Rachmainoff. A tell-tale sign of **begging** Kenma not to do that. To please just let him get out by himself. That he doesn’t need backup, especially for such a simple and boring mission. 

 

“Don’t care. We’ve sent the new recruit.” 

 

Now he’s humming Stravinsky from The Firebird. No, he definitely does not need a new recruit to cover his ass. If anything, the new recruit could make it worse. God only knows how bad Bokuto was when he was just starting out— costed them at least five assassinations. Kuroo wasn’t in the mood to babysit. The mess he was in was his own, so only he knew how to clean it. Throwing in another random variable messed with carefully calculated reactions. Besides, he’s been tied to a chair before, he’ll get out of it. Eventually. Hopefully before tweedledee and tweedledum slice off his hands with a rusty saw. That would be troublesome. How would he button up his suits then, or clean his pistols? 

 

“You two will get along nicely. He’ll be there in a bit.” 

 

Before he can appeal with a pleading Shostakovich, his interrogators are lumbering back into the room, carrying a large chest full of— no doubt— a wonderfully diverse array of misused power tools and medical instruments and an amused _speak of the devil_ rolls through his head. “How was your romantic stroll?” He hopes tweedledum will punch him this time, wonders if his fist is as unsteady as his partner’s. But the only thing he earns is a sharp glare as they look through their fatalistic chest o’ torture. “Nice collection you got there,” Kuroo tries again but they brush off his comment once more. 

 

Pouting, he glances towards Dodo, still obediently standing near the door like a good dog. If one of them gets close enough he knows he can break their nose with a headbutt, maybe get a hold of whatever sharp thing they’re holding so he can loosen the ropes. He tests the constraints once again, and wonders how a CRO has the foresight to install a chair nailed to the floor but not hire someone who can throw a decent punch. 

 

Cufflinks. He forgot about those. Kenma thought it was stupid, but you never knew when you had to to wear something down. So he adjusts, bends his hand at an uncomfortable angle and starts to rub the customized cufflinks— a definite safety hazard and heavy as hell, but damn they looked good— against the rope. “Oh yeah, that nail gun might be a good choice, but maybe a power drill would be better, you get me? You can control the depth of the puncture,” Kuroo drawls and he swears he sees a vein pop on tweedledee’s forehead. They won’t do anything to shut him up— like sew his mouth closed or cut out his tongue. But he recognizes that he only has so much time until they get tired of his chiding, or, worse, until the new recruit shows up. 

 

These ropes were too damn expensive.

 

Someone must really have something to prove, he muses, if they’re willing to splurge so much on some damn rope. As he thinks about overcompensating with the purchase of seemingly trivial products, he catches something in the corner of his eye, or, more importantly, the lack of something. Dodo’s gone from his post at the door. 

 

“Hey, I think you door dog went on a potty break.” The tweedle duo exchange glances and Kuroo quirks an eyebrow. Tweedledee goes out to check the hallway as his partner approaches Kuroo with a power drill. At least he listened to his recommendation. 

 

Dee, it seems, isn’t doing so hot in the hallway. It’s apparent by the resounding ‘thump’ Kuroo hears above the noise of the drill— inches away from his knee now— and luckily Dum hears it as well. Approaches the doorway and he’s just about to call his partner’s name (which Kuroo would bet money on the fact that it is not nearly as fitting as the nickname he’s picked out) and neither of them have time to breathe before Dum’s neck is snapped between two toned thighs, drops to the floor like a rag doll. 

 

Kuroo blinks. 

 

Now, Kuroo is the last person to believe in the overly used and nauseatingly drawn out aspect of love at first sight. It’s a silly idea deviated from romance novels written by authors who are too lazy to develop the complicated and elusive idea of romantic and sexual attraction. A make-believe ideal created for the purpose of making money off of hopeless romantics, capitalizing on the cultural norm that you are one half of a whole, that’s what love at first sight was. 

 

But goddamn. 

 

There’s something about dangerous heather eyes framed by sweet eyelashes and heaven-high cheekbones and rose petal lips and having the strength and skill to kick the crap out of him. And Kuroo knows this man could punch him hard and precise and with zero hesitation because when he lets go of the top of the doorway he lands with an elegance that can’t be matched, and he’s cleaning off his knife with tweedledum’s greasy t shirt. 

 

He’s art, really. Baroque. Not the kind that bleeds into Rococo, either. Gentileschi allure with Bernini solidity. 

 

“Shit,” he whispers to himself as he watches the Ecstasy of St. Theresa in motion. Towards him. His eyes can’t decide whether they want to watch his knuckles or hips. 

 

“Agent Kuroo.” His voice is silk steel. Honey in his ears but it no doubt freezes into shards. “Agent Akaashi reporting for backup.”Pretty name. Rolls off the tongue. 

 

“Heaven sent.” A grin cracks over his face and Akaashi flutters those pretty eyelashes— staring blankly before leaning down to cut the ropes and unlock the chain between Kuroo’s ankles. Giving Dodo the key wasn’t the best decision on the tweedles’ part. But that’s why they’re dead, he supposed.The panther takes the time to survey what the other looks like up close, careful marble and dangerous shadow. 

 

“Did they take anything of yours? A weapon, perhaps?” The time to admire is cut short when Akaashi stands back up, surveys the mess around them. 

 

“Mm, no. Still got the USB, too. Simpletons didn’t bother to search for more than something shiny.” 

 

“Yes, well, they still managed to capture you, agent.” 

 

Something dangerous sparks in him— amusement coiling into annoyance to make something burn in the pit of his stomach. Only Kenma knew him well enough to bare teeth at him. Maybe Akaashi was an excellent people reader. Or he was just that brave.

 

“So mean, Akaashi. I barely know you. And don’t be so formal.” Singsong as he stands up and stretches out his long limbs before moving to Dum’s body, removes the handgun from his holster. It’s an overpriced model, but it’ll do. Plus it’s fully loaded. So he tucks it into the lining of his suit jacket. And maybe he gives Dum something in return. Something he may or may not have swiped from Bokuto.

 

There’s a beat of silence. Something thick in the air as they lock eyes before Akaashi turns to survey the hallway again, making sure there wasn’t a surprise call for more manpower or anything like that. Kuroo wonders how he’s going to thank Kenma. 

 

Maybe with flowers. 

 

“We need to get out of here quickly. Undetected, if possible.” Kuroo doesn’t miss the tinge of passive aggression, standing a little too close to Akaashi as he peeks into the familiar hallway. The estate was huge. Impressive, even, but made the journey to an exit an unnecessary journey. Also, Akaashi’s considerably shorter than Kuroo. It’s cute. 

 

“Lead the way, newbie.” That strikes a chord in the other, Kuroo can tell by the way his shoulders tense under that skintight turtleneck. Being fresh meat was never fun, no matter the occupation or how many necks you have to snap, but it piques his interest. Akaashi’s tenseness. “Hm, don’t get huffy puffy. We all started somewhere.” 

 

He can’t help but wonder about Akaashi’s circumstances, where he learned how to sever spines and stab into just the right place of a human skull. Whether or not he enjoyed those sensations. If the occupation was his first or last choice, since there was no in-between. Wondered how he stumbled upon the agency or how the agency stumbled upon _him_.

 

“And some of you are still there,” Akaashi replies. Almost bitter. Tasted fantastic at the back of Kuroo’s mouth. He wonders if Akaashi is going to hit him if he talks too much. The thought alone makes him want to test the boundaries. 

 

They’re not paying attention as they round a corner. 

 

And there are three guards waiting for them. Of course. Rookie mistake, not focusing on the task before him. So maybe he was testing Akaashi— distracting him because he wanted to see him fumble just a little. 

 

Kuroo can’t help but laugh, glancing towards Akaashi, hoping to rub it in that pretty face of his, but the younger’s already moving. Fast. Quicker than the draw of a gun. Kuroo learns two things in that blur of a moment. 

 

One: Akaashi is not at all elegance and roses. He is breaking a man’s nose on a strong knee, planting a rusty knife into his neck and leaving him for dead. He is disarming an opponent twice his size, slicing open his neck and taking an elbow to the face like a fucking pro. He is kicking in a guard’s skull, making him bite onto a gun as his foot presses into his neck after he’s shattered the other’s wrist . He is brutal. He is beautiful. There is anger in the way he kills and there is fire, not ice. 

 

Two: Kuroo is definitely in love with him. There is no doubt now. Love at first sight is alive and well, rustling in the dimness of his ribs. Making him feel alive. 

 

Akaashi straightens up, takes a shaky breath as he surveys the busted bodies before him. Looks at Kuroo— for what? Before closing his eyes. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me, agent.” 

 

Busted.

 

“Could say the same for you,” Kuroo teases, casting a glance down the expanse of the other’s body. Akaashi looks like he’s ready to kill him and Kuroo would write him a thank you note from hell if he did, but decides the gig is worth more than getting the last word.

 

“You’ve been doing this for a while?” They were moving now, not that Kuroo would even notice. He could float on the sight of Akaashi’s soft curls bouncing as he navigated the manor in search of a viable way out. The place was crawling with more security than Kuroo remembered, or maybe he was just that bent on getting caught. 

 

No answer, only a slightly annoyed look thrown his way.

 

“Did you go to college?” 

 

Silence. 

 

“Do you like it?” 

 

More silence. Did Akaashi just twitch? 

 

“How’d you find out about us?” 

 

Even more silence, but he looks more put together at that question. He smiles, leans in and dares to tap at the other’s hip. Lightly.

 

“Where’d you learn how to use your thighs like that?” 

 

Quick— Akaashi’s quick like he had notice earlier, and he grabs at his fingers before Kuroo can react. Threatens to snap them in half but remains calm. 

 

“Agent. I was told to get you out of here. Not be interrogated.” 

 

Kuroo really hopes he doesn’t pop a boner.

 

It seems like Akaashi doesn’t even realize he nearly broke Kuroo’s bones until his grip gives and there’s something akin to embarrassment splattered over his cheeks. “I apologize. Reflexes.”

 

“Just wanted to get to know my coworker a little better. We’re partners now, you know.” Holds his palms up in surrender and offers a smile as they head to the upper level of the home. Security cameras disabled via the tech genius of Kenma Kozume, the only security they needed to worry about circled outside grounds. 

 

Akaashi looks at him. Shakes his head before starting to move again. “Just look at my file if you’re so curious.” 

 

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Because honestly. Files were so one dimensional. Black text diluting meat. Akaashi’s file would be bare bones, but Akaashi— with his rusty knife and surface blankness— was David with the Head of Goliath and the Corner Chapel. Not a simple swipe of paint and brush but something religious. Something historical. 

 

“Hm. I looked over your file before I came here.” Kuroo could appreciate someone who wasn’t afraid to do their research. Especially someone who looked so good in black. But Kuroo’s file didn’t reveal anything about him. Nothing raw or bruising. Just sharp.

 

“Impressed?” It’s drawled— almost cut short by the way he catches Akaashi staring at him. Intense, but weightless and clear. Spring water flooding up to Kuroo’s neck. 

 

“Should I be?” Flat and Kuroo can detect the faintest hint of a smile so he can’t be mad. Not even slightly.

 

So he doesn’t give in quite yet. Tries a different angle because he is genuinely interested. 

 

“You like Rachmainoff?” 

 

Doesn’t expect an answer, especially with the ensuing stretch of empty air. 

 

“I prefer Wagner, agent. But I enjoyed his Aleko compositions.” Whispers. It almost felt intimate, and Akaashi’s answer makes his heart thump loud loud loud. 

 

“No need to be so formal, Just Kuroo’s fine, you kn-“ 

 

“Agent, I suggest we keep conversation to a minimum.” 

 

Kuroo respects his resolve, like who he respects the human skull and how that fuels him to discover ways to shatter it. Did you know the human skull is comprised of an impressive 27 bones? 

 

“Why are you doing this?” The golden question, one Kuroo hasn’t been able to answer for himself quite yet. 

 

Akaashi huffs, eyes darting towards Kuroo as they stay close to the walls, finally finding a window that could lead them to a blind spot of the property. The cover of the forestry was a much safer bet than waltzing out the front door, after all. “Money,” the younger finally replies and Kuroo’s lip curl. 

 

“Don’t lie to your elders.” Watches Akaashi slip out the Victorian style window and notices how he hesitates upon Kuroo’s words, but only for a second. So Kuroo follows him, steadies himself on the slouching roof before they finally jump to the ground. 

 

It’s clear, and only a short walk to Akaashi’s ride— a sleek black motorbike hidden among the brush and Kuroo would be lying if watching Akaashi straddle it wasn’t something he’d be thinking about tonight, lying alone in his bed. A helmet being thrown in his direction disrupts his daydream. “We can’t risk this mission any further, agent. We should hurry.” 

 

Kuroo agrees, gets behind Akaashi without a word of protest. His hands grasp onto strong hips, wants to thumb at bone and tease at fabric but figures that it can wait till the second date. 

There is little to no warning before Akaashi speeds off- nearly topples Kuroo over from the jerk and abruptness of the movement. It’s natural— the way Akaashi leans forward and gains an ungodly speed. Loves it. Kuroo can see it in the way his grip tightens on the handlebars and how his shoulders relax. “Slow down, speed racer,” Kuroo teases and his grin is lazy and if Akaashi had looked back at the moment he would have been more suspicious than he was. 

 

“Time is of the essence, agent,” he half yells back, wind whipping around them and helmets muffling the words. 

 

“Don’t wanna miss the show.” Is all Kuroo offers before the explosion sounds off behind them and he swears Akaashi almost crashes the bike, swerving off to the side and stopping in disbelief. Deafening, almost. He can feel the heat from it on his back. Takes off his helmet and those ash eyes are wide— glancing back to the estate that is now entirely engulfed in flames. Smoke bellows from every window and Akaashi’s hands seem to be shaking. Rage?

 

Kuroo tsks, pursing his lips as he surveys his work. Could have been grander, but what could one expect from an untested micro bomb? It’s poor design— keeping your interrogation room right below the kitchen with all of its gas stoves and flammable things.

 

Akaashi glances at him, looks like he’s about to slap him. Kick him? Snap his neck? 

 

“You…” is all he gets out before shoving his helmet back on. It’s cutting and frustrated and Kuroo swears Akaashi is about to scream. But he only starts his bike again, kicks up speed and heads towards headquarters. Kuroo actually isn’t sure if he’s going to headquarters in the moment, or if he’s off to some remote place to kick Kuroo’s ass. Either one is appealing. 

 

Headquarters is a masterfully “hidden in plain sight” sort of deal— plopped in the middle of a bustling city under the guise of a paper company. The building is unremarkable on the outside. Inside, however, is painted with advanced technology, secret rooms, secret spy lounges, the whole shebang. Kuroo thinks it’s kinda tasteless, makes it seem more glamorous than it actually is. Bokuto always raves about it, though. 

 

Not that they even make it inside, or even into the underground garage. No, Akaashi’s anger boils over int he parking lot. Bike stilling and he’s at Kuroo’s side in seconds, helmet heaved directly at Kuroo’s family jewels. Ouch. 

 

“What is your PROBLEM, agent? What the HELL was that? Did you want that mission to go to utter shit or did I miss something?” 

 

He’s cute when he’s angry. 

 

“I told you ‘agent’ is too formal,” he replies simply, still trying to adjust to the ache in his most vulnerable parts. He tries to stand up, but Akaashi is in his face, forcing him to stumble back and grab the bike for some semblance of balance. 

 

“Okay. FINE. How about I call you **a pain in the ass, instead?** Since that’s all you’ve ever been since the start of this whole **mess**. I was assigned to rescue you, and now it looks like **I** messed up because you have an issue with being told to do simple tasks. I’m **not** going to pay for your temper tantrums.” Bubbling and red, this frustration is tangible and Kuroo does feel a bit bad, but he’s smarter than Akaashi gives him credit for. 

 

“Now, now—“ 

 

“Do NOT give me that. I can’t— I should— This was my first mission. This was proving ground and you’ve threatened my rank because of some personal vendetta agains the agency!“ 

 

“There is no threatening of rank, Akaashi. Trust me.” 

 

“You were assigned to gather information. No casualties. Get in and out. I was told to get you out. As few casualties as possible.” 

 

“Well, I mean, ‘as few casualties as possible’ is pretty subjective.” 

 

A slap. Leather glove cracking against his cheek. Akaashi doesn’t even look sorry and Kuroo’s almost positive he’s died and gone to heaven for whatever reason. God _damn_. 

 

“You’re an incompetent moron. I hope you know I have every intention to throw you under the bus during debriefing.” ” 

 

He has half a mind to egg Akaashi on, maybe he’ll hit him again. Maybe he’ll stab him with that gorgeous knife of his. But he doesn’t want him furious, no matter how akin to the sea he looks when he’s like this. Atlantic sea rumbling, overflowing. No, Kuroo wants him to know that he has his best interest. 

 

He wants to spend more time with him. Maybe he wants to make him smile at least once.

 

“Can I explain myself?” It’s even despite the blood rushing to various parts of his body, and he holds eye contact with the younger. Akaashi is shaking, fury palpable. It’s sharp and horned but sickly sweet. Something Kuroo wants to bottle. “You’re backup. If this mission went smoothly, you’d always be backup, trust me.” 

 

Akaashi looks like he’s about to spout something off, but Kuroo stands up straight, presses into him and he doesn’t dare move. “And you don’t want that. You’re good. You’re incredible, if I do say so myself. You’re better than playing clean up crew,” he admits. Sincere, not light or tinsel but stone cold. “So, if this works out the way I see it working out, the target’s on the move. Out of the country because he knows someone is onto him, right? Spy school taught you that much.” And Akaashi furrows his brow, scowl still set on his face. But he doesn’t interrupt. 

 

“If he’s who I observed on these files,” Kuroo plucks the USB out of his pocket then, for theatrical effect. “He’s headed to France. Now, the agency will want us to get him back, and they believe in accountability. So we’ll be cleaning up our own mess. This mission is your time to shine, sweetie. As the main event, not backup. Plus you’ll get a free trip to France. Win-win." He flashes his most charming smile. "You’re welcome.” 

 

Bokuto finds an unconscious Kuroo in the parking lot thirty minutes later. 

 

“Uh, you alright, man?” Bokuto’s voice is all muffled and there’s at least three of him when Kuroo finally opens his eyes. His ear’s bleeding and the last thing he can remember is Akaashi’s beautiful leg kicking him in the jaw. The bike’s gone and so is Akaashi, though. Probably off to write a report on Kuroo’s incompetence.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo responds with a groan as he sits up, hands steadying on cement and suddenly “Bokuto?” 

 

The blonde should be more concerned. In theory. But it’s Kuroo so he’s not in much of a rush to get medical services. He’s been through worse. “Yeah? You need help or anything?” 

 

“No. But I’m gonna promise something. Are you listening?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m listening!” 

 

“No. you have to be sure the you get this. Ready?” 

 

“Yes!” 

 

“Are you sure?” 

 

“You’re killing me, man!” 

 

“I’m gonna marry that new recruit.”

**Author's Note:**

> akaashi: *kicks kuroo in the head*  
> me: god i wish that were me
> 
> kuroo has a pain kink and i intend to explore and abuse this thoroughly in the future. 
> 
> next chapter will most likely be fluffy nonsense and first dates in paris. kuroo is secretly a romantic i swear.


End file.
